Ficlets
by DragonEyeZ
Summary: A collection of different ficlets that I've created through time. New upload: Drizzt gets his first haircut on the surface.
1. The first three ficlets

A gentle shaking stirs me from my sleep, and I look up, seeing his smile. "It's your watch, Catti-brie."

A soft hand enfolding mine, a soft voice pulling me from the land of dreams. "Time to get up, Catti-brie."

A tender touch on my cheek, caressing an age-old scar, rousing me. "The sun has risen hours ago, Catti."

Lips brushing mine, teasingly, a twinkle in his lavender eyes greeting me as I look up, sleepy-eyed. "Good morning, darling."

The howling of wind awakens me, as it blows over the battlefield. I watch the silent figure lying beside me. My hand runs over his still chest, over the gash in his throat, grazing his cheek. "Drizzt? Wake up…"

______________________________________________________

Bruenor rubbed a hand over his brow. They were only children, he reminded himself. Children that were taller than him by several feet, true, but still children… There was no other explanation.

 He winced as a resounding smash rolled through the hallways – probably from a glass or something. He wondered for a few seconds if he should stop it, before things got out of hand.

 Then again.. Perhaps it could teach Catti-brie and Wulfgar to not paint Drizzt's hair green while the drow was sleeping…

______________________________________________________

 "But he followed me home, da'! Can't we keep him?"

 Wulfgar looked at Colson, trying to convince himself to stand fast against his daughter's begging look. Then, carefully, he looked up at the massive creature that never took its eyes of the girl it had been enthralled with.

 "Under no circumstance," he said.

 "Pleeeeease, da'! I promise I'll walk him, and take care of him, and feed him, and he won't be doin' any harm to anyone!"

 Wulfgar looked at the girl again, her four-feet frame seeming almost comically small beside the beast she wanted as a pet. For a second, he played with the idea. And just as quickly dismissed it.

 Under no circumstance would he allow his daughter to get a pet-yeti.


	2. The Hunter

Disclaimer: Nope. Ain't mine. Not at all.

Summary: Ever wondered what exactly Drizzt's Hunter-side is..?

The Hunter 

The ghost snarled, freeing itself from the fallen body. It had taken several drow soldiers before anyone had managed to get close to the large hook-horror it had possessed, and even then, the ghost's powers had enabled the monster to keep fighting long after it technically would have died. Spells had bounced off it, weapons had pierced its flesh, but it had not felt the pain. It had been an unstoppable wave of chaos and destruction. Just as the ghost liked it…

Shaking off the last remains of the hook horror's spirit, it glanced around. The entire area was a tomb, dead or dying drow lying everywhere. Those strong enough to walk were limping from the area, leaving those who were too weak to fight behind. All the males too weak to walk, that was…

The ghost thought, running an ethereal hand over its non-existent chin. The drow were merciless killers, experts with their weapons, and the finest fighters anyone could imagine. With the ghost's powers, the drow body it inhabited would become the best of warriors…

Smirking, it pushed off, slowing through the air, following the drow soldiers as they returned home. It could, of course, possess one of the bodies walking before it, but it would require a great deal of its strength just getting a hold on the soul. No, it would be far easier to get a hold on the soul of an unborn child – one not marred with life, nor having experience or willpower…

It was clear the soldiers and priestesses could sense something, but, as their eyes could not see the ghost following them, they paid it no further heed – even as the ghost carefully examined the strengths of each.

One particular drow male caught its attention. He moved with an elegance and balance not found in the rest, and, as the ghost gently touched his mind, it found, to its joy, that it had stumbled across the finest weapons master in the drow city – a fighter who seemed made for the two long swords at his hips, rather than the swords made for him…

For a few seconds, it toyed with the possibility of possessing this male right here and now. But, it would be too risky. The drow were naturally strong of will, and if it failed to possess the male swiftly, it would risk the priestesses would discover its presence. And that would mean its destruction.

The ghost calmed itself, forcing its patience to last. It touched the mind of the others in the group, and found that there were two more males, and a female, from this house that the fighter belonged to. Do'Urden… The ghost smiled. It would turn that name into a name of fear and respect. It would create tales of a warrior whose anger and fury were greater than any, who seemed impossible to defeat in battle.

It smirked, seeing the great houses of the city rise before them as they entered the cavern in which it lay. Menzoberranzan... The seat of where it would start its work.

The ghost had possessed countless creatures through time, not giving care to which or what it took. The only thing it cared about was the killing. It would lay hidden, deep within the confinements of the soul of the body it had taken, waiting. Waiting for the moment where either the person would summon its strength – believing it to belong to the person - or lose control long enough for the ghost to take over. Then, it would turn its carrier into an instrument of killing, strengthen the most basic of instincts to aid it, and bring an unnatural wrath behind every hit.

The ghost had been created millennia ago, by a great demon who thought it had made a spirit that would turn other creatures into things of pure evil. However, it had failed on that part. The ghost did not care about good or evil. It happily followed the course of whatever creature it took, whether it was a noble knight, or a wizard filled with the purest malice. It would only slay the enemies of its carrier, merging to something near perfection with the spirit it rode. Though, was the spirit of nature dual-sided, and had already planned to change side and attack its own, then the ghost never backed away from a chance to help…

Through its existence, it had been given many names. "Slayer", "Destruction" and many others. But the name that always had appealed most to it, was "Hunter". And, in truth, it was what the ghost was. A Hunter…

Once it had managed to merge with a soul, however, there was only one single way of getting rid of it. And that was to kill its bearer – something that only would release it and set it free to find a new soul to ride.

Yet, it did not only benefit with skills in battle. It would not be possible to turn a creature into a master-fighter without adding a few things… One of the first were enhanced sight – something that with these drow probably meant they would be able to adjust to even sunlight without much pain… The second was speed, so that its bearer could fully use the potential the ghost brought… And thirdly, it brought an enhancement of the creature's already existing abilities. Which meant that, in its ethereal hands, a drow would be something close to invincible.

It followed the strong male it had found to the complex that made up the house Do'Urden, and paused. It could feel something… The spirit of one yet-to-be-born… From within the house.

It chuckled. It could clearly sense it – the Weapon Master it had followed here had an unborn child. What a perfect chance..

Laughing, the spirit kicked in the air, bringing itself through the wall, and floated unseen towards the pregnant, resting female, stopping before her.

A boy-child, it could sense. 

Smiling, it brought itself in contact with the female, easily slipping through her skin – only causing her to shiver slightly in cold – and touched the babe lying in her womb.

"My friend - you and I shall make a fine pair," it whispered, slipping into the lavender-eyed baby's body …


	3. The Headpiece

**The Headpiece**

* * *

"Why are ye wearin' that thing?" came Catti-brie's question.

The drow blinked and sat up, finding the young girl sitting in front of him on her haunches and observing him.

"Pardon me?"

"Why ye wear that thing?" she asked again, this time stabbing a finger in the air at his forehead.

Blinking, Drizzt reached up with a hand and touched the soft, metallic plate of his headgear. The golden triangle started at his hairline and its tip came to a stop above the bridge of his nose, forming a slope over his eyebrows and hiding his forehead. It was simple, and decorated only with a few red lines to not make it appear all too dull.

Why did he wear it? It was something each male at the Melee-Magthere wielding two weapons had been outfitted with, a strange type of shield that was created to protect the fighters from getting their heads cut open by a stray blade and to keep their hair from distracting them as well. Drizzt's headpiece had gained more than a few dents over time, although that had more been from being thrown into walls by big creatures or spellcasters.

"I don't really know," he slowly said. Why was he wearing it? He had grown so used to its presence that, it struck him, he had never considered it to be a remaining of his dark heritage. It was simply too much a part of him.

"Ye look ridiculously with't," Catti-brie firmly stated.

The drow laughed at this, even though he could sense that the girl was, as always, stating exactly how she felt about it. His mirth fading, the dark elf reached up, undid the elaborate clasps holding the headpiece in place and removed it, his hair immediately falling down on its own accord into a more natural position. Drizzt turned the metal over in his hands, his eyes growing thoughtful as he observed the small mark of a spider wielding a different weapon in each of its eight legs carved into the metal.

"You're right," he then said, giving the woman a light smile. "I do look ridiculous with it on."

Rising to his feet, he walked to the side of the cliff on which they were sitting and looked down the steep drop. He gave another glance at the headpiece, the final thing that, he realized, tied him to Menzoberranzan, and was struck with a sudden idea.

Grinning, he took aim, swung his arm, and let the metal fly through the air, over the cliffside and down into the chasm where it hopped over the boulders with a satisfying clonk. A light snort of laughter left him then, as he observed the now battered and broken headpiece lying forlorn on the rocks, the final reminder of what he had once been.

"There. Now I won't look ridiciouslous anymore," he said with a beaming smile to the woman, and wondered why he had not thought of getting rid of the headpiece before. Catti-brie, of course, was absolutely correct. He had always looked like a big fool with it on.

Another disadvantage about being drow, he thought to himself. Everyone, even ones closest friends, were hesitant to tell you if you looked utterly silly. Probably the reason for why Jarlaxle still maintained his dresscode…


	4. The Haircut

The haircut

AN: This story takes place a year or two before the Icewind Dale Trilogy. And this is why Drizzt still only has his ordinary, unnamed scimitars. In celebration of my first haircut in three years... Completely random, and pretty pointless…

Catti-brie watched as Drizzt, having left the warm stream only moments earlier, was roughly drying his hair with a piece of cloth, dressed only in his leggings - clinging to his still damp skin - and shook his head lightly to get rid of last droplets, before reaching into the pack and retrieving a primitive comb. The human girl could not help a wince as she watched him start brushing his long mane, roughly pulling the comb through the strands and merely pulled harder when encountering a bangle, more often than not with the result that the hairs snapped.

'''Tis no wonder yer hair looks like 't came out o' the arse o' an orc from time to time," she commented, crossing her arms and glared at the drow, who turned to look at her in surprise. ''Ye, me friend, is gonna get a haircut - gods know ye need it!"

''A haircut?" Drizzt asked with a blink.

''Haircut!" the young woman repeated with a vigorous nod. ''Meet me back with th'others in a few minutes."

Drizzt nodded in agreement, too surprised to refuse, and, some ten minutes later, trudged through the small, makeshift camp he and Catti-brie had built. Regis was sitting at one side of the burning fire, chewing on what the drow estimated was the halfling's third breakfast. Opposite him sat Catti-brie, who looked up with a grin when the drow elf approached, and made a snipping motion with the scissors she held.

Regis gave a sympatric look to Drizzt as the elf sat down on the ground, and Catti-brie moved over to sit behind him.

''Ye got nice hair, Drizzt. 'Tis a shame ye ain't trying harder ta keep it," Catti-brie commented, as her hands began combing through the white mane, gently untangling the strands until the drow's hair hung thick and smooth down his back. "Ye ought ta do more ta it, ye know. Many would love ta have hair like ye."

''It's' just hair..." Drizzt slowly said, eyeing the scissors lying on the ground, and felt a small pang of discomfort course through him. The last time his hair had been throughout attended to had been the day before his graduation from the Melee-Magthere.

Catti-brie was oblivious to his thoughts, however, and gave a few more strokes to his hair, before reaching for the scissors.

The first snip startled the drow, but his light flinch did not pass unnoticed by the human, and she dropped the scissors to the ground in favor of reaching forward and clasping the sides of Drizzt's face, turning it towards one of the large stones near which they had made their camp.

''Rock. Look at it, an' don't look anywhere else 'till I'm done, even if a groups o' yetis appear an' charges Regis," she ordered, before taking up the scissors and smoothened the hair of her friend, before bringing the joined blades to bear again.

Snip, they said, and Drizzt felt the sharp edge against his back. Snip, snip, snip, and he watched as a tuft of white hair was caught by the wind and blown over the grass. He prayed that at least some would remain on his head by the time Catti-brie was done...

Snip, snip, snip, and her hands paused to brush loose hair away from his back.

''No wonder yer hair was so thick!" she exclaimed, dropping a handful of hair to the ground. "Half o' it's loose hair - 'tis a wonder yer head ain't killing ye with all that weight."

Many minutes passed before Catti-brie was finally satisfied, and brushed the last loose hair from him and rose to her feet. She walked around him, and made a few adjustments to the hair hanging into his face, before giving a grinning nod.

"There we are! Much better!" she said, grabbed the drow's hand and pulled him to his feet, then walked around him again. "Much, much better! Ye oughta done this years ago, Drizzt!"

"I have to agree with that!" came Regis' reply, before the Halfling swallowed. "You suddenly look like a normal elf, rather than a wild elf!"

"And that's a bad thing?" Drizzt asked, melancholy running a hand through the suddenly much thinner and less tangled strands on his head, feeling the odd sensation of actually being able to slide his fingers all the way through without meeting resistance, and watched as the many loose, white hairs were taken by the wind and scattered over the grass like a strange kind of snow. At least Catti-brie had left his hair long enough to reach past his shoulders, although it felt odd not having it reach his waist any more.

He just hoped that his neck would adjust to the change of weight quickly, as he felt quite silly trying to keep his head from falling forwards with the lack of pull his hair had made previously...


End file.
